2. Hayes
Hayes
The sky hangs low today—a brooding, iron-gray canopy threatening to crush the valley beneath it.
Despite an entire week passing since the start of this shit weather, it’s only gotten worse. If anything, the last few days have been building up to this point.
The angry darkness isn’t just coming; it’s prowling, swallowing the mountain ridges whole as the storm gathers its breath.
Most folks will take shelter and cancel the weekly gathering at the Hollow Oak.
But a few distant thunderclaps won’t keep me from the only reason I bother leaving my cabin anymore.
Not when Kelsie’s there.
Mondays always start the same. Every dip in the mountain road jolts my bad hip on the way down. Every step through the bar’s doorway sends a twinge up my leg.
Then we find each other, like we both look forward to the day. The way she looks at me, unlike any of the other locals, a lack of pity in her gaze, makes the pain worth it.
When Dalson first started inviting me to the bar for drinks, I knew right away I wanted no part of it. He’d clap me on the shoulder—his grip too tight, like he was trying to shake sense into me—and insist I couldn’t spend the rest of my days holed up in my cabin, treating society like the plague.
He should understand why I stay away from it all. Like me, he hates the pitying stares and all the judgment that comes with it. However, unlike me, he’s more optimistic. He enjoys making friends and trading stories. It’s why he helped start these gatherings once a week.
Like me, the man is lonely. The only difference between us is that he doesn’t try to spend every second with the woman of his dreams while he’s shooting back drinks that his doctor would scold him for.
At the bar, I don’t have to worry about any of the patrons taking a look at my cane and curling up their nose because of how much room I take up to move from one place to the other.
But that’s only because half the folks laughing too loud over their whiskey have chunks missing too—some we can see, arms or eyes gone, and some we can’t, carved out from the inside. The lucky ones wear their scars where the light hits.
Me? I drag my leg behind me like a curse every damn Monday. The pain licks up my spine like fire, but I bear it. Every step, every wince—it’s worth it.
Dalson thinks I’m becoming a social butterfly when, in fact, I’m more of a moth drawn to a flame.
It’s a miracle none of the men in this joint haven’t already tried to ask Kelsie for her hand. Even while I’m sober, the words have weighed against my tongue.
I don’t have the right to watch her the way I do. Like she’s already claimed, already mine.
She’s half my age, bright-eyed and unbroken, the kind of woman who wouldn’t spare a second glance for a limping wreck like me. But that hasn’t stopped my eyes from following her movements each time she appears at the bar.
For months now, I’ve studied the way she tucks loose hair behind her ear, the way her fingers tremble whenever she’s near. Hell, I’ve memorized the shape of her lips with each conversation we share, giving me something to think about during my time all alone in that cabin.
If Dalson knew my intentions for showing up, he’d encourage me to talk to her even more to make a new friend. Someone who isn’t my age, haunted by the same curse.
What I want from Kelsie isn’t anything innocent. When she looks my way, she doesn’t have the slightest clue. Her smile is too genuine, too carefree whenever she aims it in my direction.
I’m old enough to know better. Old enough to be her father, for fucks sake.
That doesn’t stop the way my blood kicks when she leans across the bar, doesn’t stop the filthy fantasies that slither into my head when she laughs—high and bright, a sound that lodges under my ribs and stays.
I imagine things I shouldn’t. The give of her waist under my grip. The hitch in her breath if I dragged my thumb across that stubborn bottom lip she tends to chew on whenever she thinks about anything, how she’d look at me if she knew , if she saw the things I’ve pictured in the dark.
Those secrets I keep locked up tight. Sometimes, I’ll speak without thinking and let out a little at a time. My restraint has grown weaker over the last few weeks.
At this rate, I’ll be spilling my feelings for her by the end of the summer season.
When I enter the bar today, I’m not surprised by the few bodies inside. Those who live here in town attend, greeting me as I make my way to the bar. As soon as I take a seat and get comfortable, Kelsie appears like magic.
None of the other bartenders bother paying me any attention, causing me to believe she claimed me for herself. Even if it’s a crazed thought, it crosses my mind from time to time. It’s a thought I enjoy having.
Her eyes are bright and full of surprise to see me. Once she’s getting a good look at me, a gasp slips past her lips as she twists around to find a towel. The last thing I expect her to do is thrust it in my direction.
Sure, the rain isn’t falling lightly outside, but it’s hardly much to fret about.
“I’m surprised to see you here. Haven’t you heard of all the warnings about today?” With concern in her voice, it’s a pleasant discovery to know how it feels to have it all pointed in my direction.
“A little rain isn’t enough to keep me away. Where else am I going to get to taste something so sweet?” Accepting her offering, I dry my face and shoulders.
I shouldn’t feel too special. If I take a look around the bar, I can see some of the other patrons have been given similar things to dry off with.
Kelsie’s brows knit together at my words, and her hands find her hips. “We both know it’s a little more serious than that. You live all the way up there, and getting back can be dangerous and—”
“I wouldn’t have come if the risk wasn’t worth taking.” Letting the words slip, I’m rewarded with the sudden appearance of two pink patches on her cheeks.
“The drinks I make aren’t that good.” Averting her eyes, she tries to busy her hands.
Even though I shouldn’t confess more than I already have, the words weigh heavily on my tongue.
“I don’t come here just for the drinks, Kelsie.” The admission spills out before I can stop it. “There are… people I like to see when I can.” My voice roughens on the last words, betraying what I can’t outright say the truth.
Her. It’s always her.
Like she doesn’t understand, she glances towards the empty tables like it’ll be more proof for her end of things.
“Well…” Pursing her lips together in a thin line, she tries to come off more demanding. There’s no denying the color that forms on her cheeks as she looks down at me. “A lot of these guys come on other days, too. You don’t have to just come on the one day of the week.”
As nice as that sounds, what’s to stop her from calling the sheriff if I start coming here every day to see her? That’s not the kind of invite I want to take lightly.
Monday’s safe. Monday’s excusable. Any more than that isn’t an invitation, it’s a test of how far I can push before she realizes exactly what kind of man keeps showing up just to watch her work.
“If I came on any other day, business would be too busy for these kinds of chats. I do enjoy them if I’m being honest.”
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she considers my words before straightening her shoulders. “Then you should come before the rush. It’s always dull around here during the daytime. That would give us plenty of time to talk to each other. Or, maybe we could see each other outside of–”
“Kelsie?” One of the bartenders is holding a phone, offering it to her.
Outside of what, work?
No, that can’t be. Sounds too good to be true.
Her mouth pinches at another distraction getting in our way, and I can’t help but let mine curve at her attempt to offer me something that can’t possibly be. Holding up her finger to pause this discussion, she tears her eyes from mine.
“I have to take this. Be right back.” Turning away from me, she accepts the phone and lingers close enough to let me listen to the soft hum of her voice.
I don’t mean to listen to her conversation, but it’s hard not to when a look of concern takes over her expression. Finally, she sighs.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll stay until close. What’s the difference of a few hours?” She forces a laugh and reassures whoever it is on the other side of the call. “By the time the storm hits, who’s going to be out for a drink, anyway? You guys stay safe.”
There’s more to the call, but I try to put my attention back on my drink.
Sounds like Kelsie is going to pull a double. With the storm that’s coming, what’s keeping her safe once the flood warnings and the wind start picking up?
After making a habit of staying through her shifts, a habit I don’t plan on breaking today, I figure her words hold some truth. What is the difference of a few hours?
I’ll keep her company and make sure she’s alright. Hell, I’ll even give her a ride home to make sure all is well.
Then, when there isn’t anyone around to disrupt her from finishing a sentence, maybe she can finish where she left off.
* * *
A heavy sigh rolls out beside me, thick with exhaustion and something sharper—frustration, maybe, or the kind of anger that simmers too long. The man’s grip on his glass is white-knuckled, his phone screen glowing with some message he keeps glaring at like it’s personally wronged him.
Reid.
Funny—I don’t even know his last name. Then again, last names don’t mean much around here. What I do know is that while most of us hung up our service with relief and never looked back, Reid never really left the fight. Just traded one battlefield for another.
Instead of protecting borders, he’s babysitting the Mayor’s kid, playing a glorified bodyguard to someone who’ll never know the weight of that kind of duty.
Mondays are supposed to be his day off. But from the grit of his jaw, the way his fingers tap a restless rhythm against the bar as he stares at the screen instead of replying, and the fact that his drink is barely touched—I’m guessing whatever’s on that phone just dragged him right back into the fray.
Even on a day like this, with the storm growing closer and closer by the hour, he’s attempted to find his own little escape.
Normally, he doesn’t try to complain about her, but I can sense he’s bottling up a long list of things bothering him.
“What is it this time?” Taking a drink of my own glass, I’m hit with a taste of cherries. These mocktails get better and better, I swear.
He sends a brief glance in my direction, the tension in his shoulders hardly unwinding.
“She knows this is the only time I can get to myself. And yet, I can’t ignore her. I’m not the only one under his payroll, but I’m the only one suffering.” He steals one mouthful of his glass before moving to pull out his wallet. “Gig is too good to quit, but that woman is driving me up the wall.”
If my body could keep up with the demands of babysitting an energetic twenty-something-year-old, I don’t think I’d mind the paychecks I imagine he gets.
Leaving cash on the bar and sending a short wave toward a group of men I assume are his friends, he gives me a nod before leaving behind the sound of another frustrated sigh.
I do not envy the guy. That’s for sure.
Kelsie is the one to come collect his money, clearing the spot with a swipe of a cloth.
Before she drifts away again, she nudges close enough that I can smell a sweet scent rolling off of her top.
Something so sweet, it’s no wonder I have a craving for these drinks she’s been throwing together for me each week.
“Can I get you anything else? The kitchen is open. We’re happy to fix something together for you.
Plus, I think the two I have back there are dying of boredom.
” She leans against the bar like she hopes I’ll agree.
Not because the business will earn a few extra dollars, but because she’ll have a reason to return.
Look at me, getting ahead of myself and thinking things I know can’t be true.
At my hesitation, her smile grows, and she slips away for hardly a moment before she’s sliding a sheet toward me. A menu with images good enough to make one’s mouth water.
“You stay later than most, anyway,” she continues. “I can’t have you starving on my watch, Hayes.”
She hums my name—soft, intimate, like a secret just for us—and I choke back the groan rising in my throat.
“I know you don’t usually get food,” she says, leaning in, “but trust me, we won’t let you leave disappointed.” Her smile is all warmth and mischief. “My staff back there? They’re magic. Half of the people who come here come for the food.”
Her finger drifts lazily down the menu, tracing options I don’t care about, her nail tapping lightly against the laminate.
I should be reading the damn thing, but I can’t focus on anything except the slow drag of her fingertip—closer, closer—until it’s nearly level with my chest. Five more inches, and she’d be touching me.
I inhale sharply, and the scent of her engulfs my senses. The bar tilts. My grip tightens on nothing, fingers itching to anchor themselves to the counter before I do something stupid.
Such as the need to reach for her.
If only she could see that the last thing I’m hungry for is anything listed on this menu.
“I’ll have to get back to you on it.” Throat tight, I take the sheet to busy my hands with something.
“Just say the word and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” Sending me away with those words, she drifts off in another direction.
Sighing once she’s gone, I don’t bother thinking about the time or how long it’s been since the last time I’ve eaten.
This is enough. It’s always been enough.
But the way she keeps pushing, I’m starting to want more. Once that becomes a problem, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep myself away.
Here’s to hoping I don’t fuck everything up when that day comes.